Quote

Limbo is the place. In Limbo one has natural happiness without the beatific vision no harps no communal order but wine and conversation and imperfect, various humanity. Limbo for the unbaptized, for the pious heathen, the sincere sceptic.

Evelyn Waugh

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Evelyn Waugh
Age: 62 †
Born: 1903
Born: October 28
Died: 1966
Died: April 10
Autobiographer
Diarist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
War Correspondent
Writer
Evelyn Arthur St John Waugh
Arthur Evelyn St. John Waugh
Conversation
Communal
Vision
Heathen
Humanity
Pious
Happiness
Afterlife
Natural
Imperfect
Beatific
Order
Sincere
Sceptic
Place
Various
Limbo
Without
Wine
Harps

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I am suing Lord Beaverbrook for libel and hope for some lovely tax-free money in damages. He has very conveniently told some lies about me.
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Pray always for all the learned, the oblique, the delicate. Let them not be quite forgotten at the throne of God when the simple come into their kingdom.
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You can't ever tell what's going to hurt people.
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I know very few young people, but it seems to me that they are all possessed with an almost fatal hunger for permanence.
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The only thing that it is advisable to know in any language is the numerals and even there, you can do a lot with the fingers.
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For in that city [New York] there is neurosis in the air which the inhabitants mistake for energy.
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Of children as of procreation -- the pleasure momentary, the posture ridiculous, the expense damnable
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You never find an Englishman among the under-dogs except in England, of course.
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Evelyn Waugh: How do you get your main pleasure in life, Sir William? Sir William Beveridge: I get mine trying to leave the world a better place than I found it. Waugh: I get mine spreading alarm and despondency and I get more satisfaction than you do.
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The sky over London was glorious, ochre and madder, as though a dozen tropic suns were simultaneously setting round the horizon . . . Everywhere the shells sparkled like Christmas baubles.
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My theme is memory, that winged host that soared about me one grey morning of war-time. We possess nothing certainly except the past.
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The better sort of Ishmaelites have been Christian for many centuries and will not publicly eat human flesh uncooked in Lent, without special and costly dispensation from their bishop.
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Anyone could write a novel given six weeks, pen paper, and no telephone or wife.
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Beware of writing to me. I always answer ... My father spent the last 20 years of his life writing letters. If someone thanked him for a wedding present, he thanked them for thanking him and there was no end to the exchange but death.
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The anguished suspense of watching the lips you hunger for, framing the words, the death sentence, of sheer triteness!
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Her heart was broken perhaps, but it was a small inexpensive organ of local manufacture. In a wider and grander way she felt things had been simplified.
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Conversation should be like juggling up go the balls and plates, up and over, in and out, good solid objects that glitter in the footlights and fall with a bang if you miss them.
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The splendid thing about education is that everyone wants it. Like influenza, you can give it away without losing any of it yourself.
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